Not Roger
by GayApparel
Summary: Roger has a bad night, and Mark's consoling him.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: Um... Roger had a really bad night last night, dealing with someone from Philip's past. Mark knows nothing of either, but is there to take care of him. Based on a crossover of RENT/Taboo with Jess. Really short.

Hope you enjoy it. For Philip!**

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**Not Roger**

I'm sitting with him on the couch rocking back and forth; he's just been through hell. He's looking at me through pleading eyes, wanting me to make it all go away. The tears have stopped flowing, but the pain remains. I've never seen him like this before; reduced to a mere shell of himself. This is far worse than the last time; but the last time was different. The last time it was drugs, and withdrawals. This time… this time he was hurt.

He's not the one who's supposed to get hurt. Me; I'm the one who gets hurt, not him. Not Roger. Roger's the strong one. He's the one who doesn't get hurt. He's the one who rescues me from people like that.

He's been sick all day, throwing up, and just feeling generally nauseous. I gave him some water, and made him some soup, which he couldn't eat even if he tried. Anything that went into his mouth came right out in a matter of minutes. So, I'm just sitting here, rubbing his back, so worried about him.

He's curled up on the couch; his legs up against his chest, arms folded around his legs, chin resting on his knees, just holding himself, and half leaning against me. He looks like he's trying to sleep, but every time he closes his eyes; he shoots them right open, and whimpers, holding himself tighter. It hurts me to see him like this. I wish I could something to help him, but what can I do?

I've been sitting with him for a good while now, just sitting with him, hoping he'll snap out of it. Who am I kidding? Snap out of it, what, am I an insensitive bastard like the… fucker who did this to him? I don't even know his name. I just know he was here, and he did this to Roger. I swear, if I get my hands on him…

Roger just reacted to that. He looked up at me with this fear in his eyes. I've never seen that look either. Roger's not supposed to fear anything. He's the strong one… like a superhero. He's _my_ superhero. He's invincible, and he's… vulnerable. He's really, truly vulnerable. I never really realized that until just now.

The tears have started again. He's not making any sound, but I can see his tears sliding down his face. I'm crying too. I'm just holding him, but he doesn't move. He just sits there.

I want to grab him by the collar, glare deeply into his sad green eyes, and tell him to snap out of it, but all I can muster is me tucking in the tag on the back of his shirt, and staring sadly at him. I feel like such a jerk thinking about how pathetic he looks, and I mentally slap myself for daring to think that.

His eyes are getting heavier. I gently rub on his back, whispering how I think he should just go to sleep, but he doesn't allow sleep to come. He keeps opening his eyes, holding them open so he's not tempted to shut them, but they're overpowering him, and close again. He needs some rest, but I know if he sleeps, he's going to have nightmares, and with nightmares come screams, and no sleep with result in cranky moods. It's going to be very difficult to get him out of this state unless he either- either well, kills the fucker who did this to him, or- or ends up killing himself. I don't want to think about that. I'm worried he's going to get back into drugs again.

I don't think either of us could handle going through that again. Not if he's in this state. I'm going to need a lot of help with him after this. There's no way I'm going to be able to deal with him alone.

Roger's finally passed out, and I untangle him, and lay him down on the couch. He's clinging to the couch cushion beside him, coiled up in a fetal position. I kneel down next to him, just stroking his hair, and trying so hard not to cry. It's so hard to see him like this.

He's stirring now. I think he might be dreaming. No… it's probably a nightmare. He's tossing about, thrashing a bit… more than likely dreaming about what happened, or a variation thereof. I'm so scared for him. I'm so scared that whoever did this to him might come back, and I don't think he'll be able to cope with that.

I stay with him most of the night, watching him make it through a restless sleep. I don't sleep at all this night, though my eyes are laden and want so badly to close, but I keep them open long enough to know Roger's okay. Before I know it though, Roger's shaking my shoulder, and I open my eyes.


End file.
